


crooked

by fluteandguqin



Series: Superstar, Before and After [1]
Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Addiction, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Prequel, Rehabilitation, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25548067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluteandguqin/pseuds/fluteandguqin
Summary: Kwon Jiyong's life before, during and after his infamous overdose in Hong Kong.
Series: Superstar, Before and After [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851289
Comments: 11
Kudos: 13





	1. LA

**Author's Note:**

> Or: a prequel collection of one shots to the story _[superstar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180751/chapters/58238917)_.
> 
> The events depicted in this story are entirely made up and are **not** based on real life events. I do not claim Kwon Jiyong to be a drug addict.

_“Mom.”_

The tear tickled his face as it slid vertically from the corner of his eye onto the pillow. One tear stain turned into two, then three, then four and it kept going until the stain was large enough for Jiyong to feel it under his cheek.

If you had told Jiyong that at the age of 24 he would be crying for his mother, he would have told you to go to hell. But life takes people places they never think they’d reach.

As it happens, Jiyong hadn’t spoken to his parents in years. But this, this fever and this feeling of helplessness made him feel like a child again.

It reminded him of that winter when he’d fallen very ill, of being taken care of in his parents’ house in Hannam-dong. He was burning up, he couldn’t stop shaking, his fever wouldn’t go down. And what was he to do, a small child, other than call for his mother.

_“Make it go away,”_ he’d said, in tears.

“Make it stop,” he whispered now, into the empty room.

He was an ocean away from home. He was in a five star hotel in Los Angeles. He hadn’t seen his mother in years, ever since it had become impossible for him to hide his addictions. He’d stopped going home. It wasn’t his parents wish, he was simply too ashamed to face them after they’d found out.

A sob escaped Jiyong’s mouth, ripping through his lungs. He wished, he wished to have someone, anyone next to him. Faces and names rushed through his head like pages of a book being skimmed through and he realized that he would rather die than let anyone see him like this, no matter how much it was tearing him apart to be alone.

He was supposed to be getting ready for his concert, but he was paralyzed.

Chained to the bed, with lead in his limbs, Jiyong couldn’t move an inch. His stomach felt like a blender, mixing all of his insides until he was sick. His skin was cold and it hurt all over, the lightest of touches were beyond painful. He was freezing but he was boiling, his skin shimmered with sweat that he had no strength to wash off.

His mother couldn’t help him now. No one could. There was only one way to make it stop.

Jiyong willed himself to move. He had no idea how, but he moved, and millimetre by millimetre he made it off the bed. Jiyong set his jaw and shut his mouth because all the contents of his digestive system threatened to spill then and there. But he stayed in place, on his hands and knees, viciously blinking away the stars that overtook his vision. Not here. Not now.

He stood, and although he stood for only a second before collapsing again, he made it to the coffee table. His hands shook and the pill escaped him twice, skidding across the glass surface before he managed to properly crush it. He arranged the powder in a line with his credit card, accidentally messed it up a few times before deciding that it was good enough.

It was a breath of fresh air. It would take time for the amphetamine to kick in, but simply knowing that it was in his system was enough to soothe him while he waited.

Jiyong fell back on the carpet, stared up at the light bulb on the ceiling.

He would be okay soon. It would all stop.


	2. Hong Kong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then, there was the rush. In a matter of seconds Jiyong was on his feet, pushing his way through the crowd, trying to get as close as possible to the DJ. He liked being close to the speakers. He liked how the vibrations shook his bones, how it made his brain tremble inside his skull.

The speed he'd taken before the performance in order to be able to perform at all hadn't worn off when he set off to _Volar._

As everything else he'd inhaled over the past few hours started to kick in, Seunghyun's questions of "where are you going?" and "are you going alone?" that he'd asked right before Jiyong had slammed the door in his face started to fade from his memory.

Everything faded.

Slowly, that feeling that he loved so much started to build up in his chest in place of all of his lost memories, worries, thoughts. And he smiled, absently and lazily, but wholeheartedly.

Happiness. No, exhilaration. That's what it was.

Something he could never experience on his own.

Then, there was the rush. In a matter of seconds Jiyong was on his feet, pushing his way through the crowd, trying to get as close as possible to the DJ. He liked being close to the speakers. He liked how the vibrations shook his bones, how it made his brain tremble inside his skull.

On his way through the crowd, someone stopped him. Tried to make small talk. They didn't understand. Not only was the music too loud for any sober person to hear what anyone was saying, but Jiyong absolutely did not know where he was, who he was or what he was doing.

He wasn't interested in hookups. He didn't care about anything but _right now_ , _that_ moment, _that_ feeling.

He might have apologized to the person, but in all honesty he didn't know what he was saying. Somehow, they parted ways.

He was at the front. The music was loud. He spilled his drink. Someone brought him another. And another. And another.

All around him music started to merge with the sounds of purple, and blue, and yellow, and red. Red sounded dreadful, but it slithered its way amongst the other, more pleasant sounds. Everything around him swirled. It felt like standing in the middle of a Picasso painting that had come to life. Shapes he'd never seen and would never know how to describe with words of any language. Colours that the human eye cannot detect. All moving, buzzing around him, singing and pulsating.

The music tasted like poppies, like chewing on the flower petals in an empty field and spitting them out because they're too bitter. The music was bitter. But it was good. It was loud. It was making Jiyong's entire body respond.

He didn't feel it when he was moving, he just knew that he was. Because there was an incredible energy inside of him that he had no idea how to release. He jumped, and jumped and sang along and jumped and jumped and jumped. His heart was racing at lightspeed, each thump hurting the inside of his ribcage. His blood was boiling. He could hear the rush of it along with the music and the colours.

Jiyong couldn't stop the tears that sparkled in the corners of his eyes because he was happy, finally fucking happy, so much that he couldn't contain it.

And it kept going. The buzzing got louder, the pulsating stronger, the colours brighter, the room got smaller and smaller and smaller until Jiyong was gasping for air.

Because at some point, everything he puts into his system disappears.

Not this time.

This time, it kept going.

The noises got too loud. Jiyong stopped jumping, but he felt like he was still moving. He stood in the middle of the club, and pressed his palms to his ears. He wanted it to stop, but the sounds were coming from inside his head. He stood in the middle of the club and screamed.

No one heard, because the music was too loud and everyone around him was just as high as him.

And then, in the middle of a scream, his nervous system short circuited. His lungs emptied and his heart stopped. His body started to shut down.

He couldn't feel any of it.

He only felt that he was losing himself, tumbling down a dark hole.

Jiyong uttered a voiceless, _help me_ ,

and then, there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not posting yesterday I was ill and pretty busy ;;


	3. Seoul I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seunghyun hesitated in front of the door. His hand was in the air, but he wasn’t knocking.
> 
> After a moment of pondering he decided to get over himself and do what had to be done.

Seunghyun hesitated in front of the door. His hand was in the air, but he wasn’t knocking.

After a moment of pondering he decided to get over himself and do what had to be done.

He knocked once and opened the door.

Jiyong was sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows rested on his knees. A thin line of smoke rose from the tip of his cigarette that he held between his index and middle finger.

The cigarette had nearly gone out. Jiyong didn’t seem to be aware of it. He was staring ahead, blankly.

The emptiness of his gaze was chilling. It was the same emptiness he’d had in Hong Kong upon waking up, that his eyes hadn’t lost ever since.

It was as if Jiyong wasn’t breathing. The only sound in the room was the sound of Seunghyun’s footsteps as he approached.

The bed dipped when he sat beside his friend.

He didn’t know quite where to start.

“I’m happy you came around,” he said at last, because he had to say something.

Jiyong didn’t move.

“This is really the best thing for you to do right now…”

“Seunghyun?” His voice was hoarse and faint. His lips were dry, his eyes were faded. Seunghyun had never seen him that thin, not even when he was dieting for _Untitled_ promotions.

It pained Seunghyun to see him like that. “Yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Seunghyun sat up straight. That was all it took for him to tower over Jiyong.

Jiyong, who only slowly lifted his hand, put his cigarette between his lips. He frowned when he realized that it had gone out. He started looking around for his lighter, his movements fluid and hazy.

Eventually he gave up. He stood, tossed the half finished cigarette out the window. He faced Seunghyun.

“At least something good will come out of this. I won’t have to listen to you for five months.” With that he grabbed his suitcase and started to walk out.

Seunghyun wasn’t having it. He stood and grabbed Jiyong’s bony wrist.

He turned, and his icy, blank stare landed on Seunghyun.

“The only reason,” Seunghyun spoke quietly, “I’m not slapping you right now is because of the hope that one day you’ll understand what we did for you.”

Jiyong slowly lowered his gaze onto their hands, then just as slowly looked back up at Seunghyun. “Don’t touch me again,” flatly.

He yanked his hand out of Seunghyun’s hold, the only movement of his that had a hint of suddenness. He then rolled his suitcase out of the room, and started towards the stairs.


	4. Seoul II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jiyong hadn’t bothered talking to anyone, let alone making any friends. All he wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible and he didn’t need any connections to that place.
> 
> He kept being told that the worst was over, but in all honesty Jiyong wasn’t sure which he hated more, being in pain and constantly nauseated, or doing absolutely nothing all day.

Jiyong hadn’t bothered talking to anyone, let alone making any friends. All he wanted was to get out of there as soon as possible and he didn’t need any connections to that place.

He kept being told that the worst was over, but in all honesty Jiyong wasn’t sure which he hated more, being in pain and constantly nauseated, or doing absolutely nothing all day.

It was suffocating, having so much time to himself. Day by day, he had nothing to do, no one to talk to but the doctors and the nurses who he did not want to even look at, he couldn’t go anywhere and he couldn’t get out of the most tedious part of all of this—group therapy.

Everything there was designed to stress him out, but it was the judgement of others that made him most anxious. He could feel the resentment radiating off of them, he could nearly hear their voices behind his back and all the filthy looks he must have been getting when he wasn’t looking.

Because he was the only one there who didn’t have a devastating story. He was the asshole, the one who didn’t stand to lose much. People spoke of their broken homes, children being taken away, getting kicked out of the house, being pushed into poverty. And Jiyong? He had no such issues. He had no family. Money hadn’t been a problem since his first album. His friends were all hopeful and waiting for him to return.

And everyone seemed to be hellbent on making him feel guilty. There were a few people there who had had an OD, like him. All of them, talking about who found them and how sorry they were for it ever happening.

Once again Jiyong differed from the others. He hadn’t been found by anyone he knew, or cared about. He’d simply been another case in club _Volar_ , rushed away by security.

And yet, whenever he thought of Seunghyun, who hadn’t been the one to find him, but had been the one called into the hospital, Jiyong felt as if he’d received a punch to the chest.

It hadn’t happened once that Jiyong started losing his breath during group therapy, trying to settle his breathing as to not attract any attention. He didn’t think much of it. He got worked up, he breathed quickly, and eventually calmed down when the topic was changed.

And then it would end and Jiyong would be left alone with himself again.

The problem was that he couldn’t focus on anything for longer than a couple of minutes. He’d been told that this was normal, just another symptom. It would pass. He’d be fine.

He wanted to write. A sick and twisted, unnaturally optimistic part of him would tell him that he could use this infinite time to himself for something good; being productive.

But it simply wasn’t happening. Jiyong was left, day by day, to stare at a blank page, wondering what the hell had happened to his brilliance. What had happened to South Korea’s most crowned rapper, producer and songwriter?

He felt like slamming his head against the table. He didn’t, because he knew that if he did there would immediately be six nurses on him stopping him from doing any further damage.

He told himself that it was the environment. Sure, he had a lot of time to himself and even more time to think and overthink, but he was surrounded by illness and misery. He was surrounded with whiteness, sterilized rooms, where anything that could potentially be used to cause harm to anyone present was removed. He was at a place where he was watched over as if he were a toddler. It wasn’t a very creatively prosperous surrounding.

One day, he was sprawled out on a couch in the common area. No one bothered coming over, interrupting him, or scolding him for taking up so much space. He’d been thinking about his creative emptiness. And it occurred to him, while thinking about his previous writing experiences and artistic blockades, that every time he’d had one, he would solve it with what else than some psychoactive substances.

The realization came as a brick in the face. Jiyong thought and thought and thought and came to the conclusion that he, Kwon Jiyong, _the_ Kwon Jiyong, had written all of his greatest hits while high.

And who’s to say that he could create now that he was—temporarily so—clean? Who’s to say that he was ever talented to begin with?

There was the sensation of being punched in the chest again. There it was, his breathing picking up pace. At first Jiyong thought that he might be doing it on purpose, or the very least that he could stop if he so wished.

But then his breathing continued to speed up until his chest hurt, until his vision was blurry, until Jiyong was no longer in control of his body.

He tried to get up, tried to gain the upper hand over himself, but he only ended up falling over.

This attracted attention, unwanted at the time. Jiyong thought that if anyone came near him he would suffocate. And despite that, despite him crying for everyone to stay away, two nurses were by his side, trying to get him to sit up and he curled up further and further, because he didn’t want anyone to touch him.

He just wanted… He just wanted to die. This was the only thought on his mind. Minutes upon minutes of him thinking about the end, expecting his nervous system to short circuit like it had in Hong Kong, for nothingness to overtake him and for everything to finally be over.

The moment never came. Instead, in time, he was able to breathe normally again. And once he was, he just knew, he would be taken away to some sort of brief therapy session and Jiyong wished he had died just then.

Later, while he was being told about how anxiety and paranoia, therefore anxiety attacks as well, are an expected symptom of withdrawal and would go away in time, Jiyong zoned out, thinking only about how he should have died in Hong Kong.


	5. Seoul III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d insisted on picking him up, just like they’d insisted on dropping him off. But somehow Jiyong had managed to convince them to let him go home on his own. In turn they’d made him promise to call as soon as he was out, so they could meet up and go out to celebrate.
> 
> A promise Jiyong had unfortunately had to break.

They’d insisted on picking him up, just like they’d insisted on dropping him off. But somehow Jiyong had managed to convince them to let him go home on his own. In turn they’d made him promise to call as soon as he was out, so they could meet up and go out to celebrate.

A promise Jiyong had unfortunately had to break.

He realized that he would have to a few days before his discharge. He realized that the way he was feeling would not meet his friends’ expectations. He realized that he had no strength to confront them.

And so he was in a taxi, making his way home on his own.

He knew what they expected of him, or at least, what they were hoping for. For him to come out a changed man, enlightened if you will.

Jiyong wasn’t feeling like that at all. He wasn’t feeling anything.

He was in no condition to celebrate. He didn’t think there was anything to celebrate. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to stay clean, because, frankly, judging by his five days of experience, being clean sucked ass. It was different for everyone, for sure, but for him it was this. Nothingness.

And he simply couldn’t let his friends see that. He couldn’t let them see _him_ so, so exhausted. Medicated out of his mind, slow and pliant, and empty, empty, empty.

Jiyong knew why he’d been prescribed all those pills. He knew why he was made to feel heavy and tired and empty. It was to keep him from hurting himself. And he couldn’t. He was tired, so tired that he could hardly keep his eyes open, let alone do anything else.

And he couldn’t let his friends see that. He couldn’t let on how much he just wanted to feel again, even if it put him in another hospital bed.

He didn’t have the strength to be faced with that disappointment, the sorrow, the pity and the anger.

He couldn’t face Seunghyun, who had begged Jiyong to be smarter than he had been, not to end up the same way he had. Seunghyun, who had been his emergency contact, who had been the first one to receive the news in Hong Kong.

He couldn’t face Youngbae, who had been making wedding plans when he’d heard that Jiyong was unconscious and still hadn’t forgiven him for it.

Daesung, who had cried for hours until he’d finally received the news that Jiyong had survived.

Hyorin, who had held them all together through it, who had prevented fights from breaking out, who had done her best to make sure they all forgive Jiyong in the end.

Chaerin, who Jiyong used to smoke weed with, just for fun, until she saw him slipping into more dangerous territories, and had begged him to stop before it was too late. Chaerin, who had seen Hong Kong happening before Jiyong’s tour even began.

Their messages were filling Jiyong’s notifications. He ignored them.

He went home first.

He took one look at the frozen furniture, at the shut blinds, all untouched, standing stiff just like Jiyong had left them. He took one breath of the stale air and he knew he needed to get out.

The “congratulations on your discharge! We’re so happy to have you back” messages started coming in and that was the last straw.

And so Jiyong headed out, to Octagon, hoping to forget the last couple of months of his life.

Because there were simply some things he had all intentions of staying addicted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the absence and the lack of updates on schedule! I've been away and busy. I hope you guys will stick with this story until its last chapter next week.


	6. Seoul IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heels clicked against the tiles, and soon Chaerin emerged from the hall. She leaned on the doorway, arms crossed. Her expression was hard to read, brows furrowed slightly, lips pressed together into something reminiscent of a smile, although it was hard to tell. There might have been something gentler in her eyes, but Jiyong couldn’t be sure when watching her through the smoke.

The front door thudded audibly. Jiyong didn’t get up to check who it was. Heels clicked against the tiles, and soon Chaerin emerged from the hall. She leaned on the doorway, arms crossed. Her expression was hard to read, brows furrowed slightly, lips pressed together into something reminiscent of a smile, although it was hard to tell. There might have been something gentler in her eyes, but Jiyong couldn’t be sure when watching her through the smoke.

“You keep your front door unlocked?” She asked.

Jiyong parted his lips and the smoke curled up into his nostrils. He inhaled once again. “I forgot.”

Chaerin shook her head. Still standing in the doorway, she took her shoes off and put them away neatly by the wall. She walked over to the coffee table and placed a takeout bag on it, before stepping towards the windows. She slid one of the panels open.

Even standing next to the full-length window it was difficult to breathe. Chaerin wondered if the windows had been opened ever since Jiyong had returned, or rather ever since he’d left. Probably not. When she looked around the living room she saw that it was mostly spotless. Everything was the same as it had been that day when she had been sitting there with the others, waiting for Jiyong to come downstairs and see him off.

Only a few things were out of order. Jiyong’s suitcase was still in the room, near the bottom of the staircase, as if he was about to take it to his room but gave up when he realized he’d have to carry it up the stairs. His jacket was still draped over the armrest of one of the armchairs. And then there was the coffee table. One ashtray filled to the brim with ash and cigarette butts sat atop the glass surface. Another one was next to it, not as full, but it was getting there. Littered around it were empty Marlboro packs, and in the middle of it all a near empty bottle of Jack.

And Chaerin suddenly understood exactly what Jiyong had been up to since he’d returned.

She made her way to the couch and sat beside him.

He didn’t look at her. He let his head fall back against the top of the couch, pressing his nape to the leather. He exhaled smoke into the air above him.

Chaerin draped her hand over the back of the couch and rested her cheek in her palm. Her ankle was tucked under her thigh, she was facing Jiyong. “I just wanted to check up on you.”

Jiyong turned his head, gave her a half lidded look. “Do I look like someone who needs checking up on?”

Chaerin gave him an up-and-down and raised her eyebrows.

Jiyong’s laugh sounded like sandpaper scraping against a rock. “Don’t answer that.”

She laughed along for a second until their voices faded. She shifted, tilted her head a little. “Jiyong, what happened? You were supposed to call, we were supposed to all meet up after your discharge.”

Jiyong faced the ceiling again. He shook ash off his cigarette onto the floor, completely disregarding the ashtray on the coffee table. “I couldn’t.”

“You couldn’t what?” Chaerin was doing her best to hide the agitation in her voice.

The truth was on the tip of his tongue. It was threatening to spill in a jumble of words and intertwined sentences, as it does when one has too much to say. But Jiyong swallowed it down. It wasn’t the time to bare himself like that.

He would still be telling the truth. Just not all of it.

“I was tired,” he said. The simplest excuse for when you don’t know how to explain your mental state. “I was, uh,” Jiyong continued, because Chaerin wasn’t the kind of person to be shaken off with a one-sentence explanation, “given these meds that knock me the fuck out, it’s really overbearing. I’m sorry.”

He looked at her and tried for a smile. “We’ll go out some other time, okay?”

Chaerin didn’t smile back. “I want to believe you.” She didn’t finish the sentence. Her disappointment pierced through Jiyong’s chest.

“You’re still taking the meds?” She asked.

Jiyong nodded.

“Then what are you doing?” Her voice quieted down. Her fist was clenched in her lap, knuckles white.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Jiyong muttered.

“I just don’t think that nicotine and alcohol mix well with— _whatever_ they gave you.”

Jiyong’s eyes slid shut. “I’m fine,” hoarsely.

“Funny. Seunghyun told me that’s what you said in Hong Kong too.”

Jiyong looked down at his hands that were rested in his lap. He looked at his cigarette and got a sudden overwhelming urge to put it out on the inside of his arm.

Before he had the chance to go through with the intrusive thought, Jiyong tossed the cigarette into the ashtray.

His vision blurred and Jiyong thought he must have been tearing up because of the smoke. But the tears didn’t stop. They rolled down his cheeks in rivulets, dripping from his chin onto his shirt.

There was movement on Jiyong’s left, but he couldn’t see what Chaerin was doing. He thought she might be leaving.

Then arms closed around his shoulders. Jiyong’s body moved against the will of his mind. He curled up into Chaerin’s embrace, buried his face in the crook of her neck.

He didn’t cry. He refused to. He merely hid away until the tears stopped.

Chaerin stroked Jiyong’s hair and he had no strength to fight it.

“I brought you some sushi,” she said.

“Thanks,” Jiyong replied once he was sure his voice wouldn’t crack. “I’m not hungry though.”

“But you’ll eat for me.” Chaerin didn’t leave room for a choice.

And once again Jiyong had no strength to fight her.

Chaerin didn’t seem to mind just sitting next to him as he ate. She’d helped herself to a glass of whiskey. If they hadn’t been through so much together, all of it would’ve been awkward.

Jiyong stared at a piece of makizushi stuck between his chopsticks. He cleared his throat. “What’s JayEn up to these days?”

“Oh fuck.”

Jiyong looked at Chaerin. That didn’t sound good.

She was frowning, twisting her glass in her hand. “You haven’t heard.”

Jiyong let the makizushi slip from between his chopsticks back into the plastic plate. “Heard what?”

“He was arrested while you were away.”

Jiyong dropped the chopsticks as well. _“What?”_

“Yeah…” Chaerin followed with her gaze as Jiyong stood up and started pacing, running a hand through his hair in distress.

“No, no, no, he can’t be gone, I— _fuck_ ,” he muttered to himself.

“Jiyong…”

He needed to stay calm. It wasn’t the end of the world, he just needed to find someone else. Surely there was an abundance of people who were more than willing to sell drugs to South Korea’s most successful rapper.

“ _Jiyong_.”

He stopped in his tracks and spun around to face Chaerin. “What!?” The beat down, listless Jiyong was gone. The traces of exhaustion were still on his face, the traces of malnourishment were still on his body, but no lethargy.

“I thought you were staying clean.

“Well you thought wrong,” he spat.

Jiyong met Chaerin’s gaze. His shoulders grew tense, he felt the need to step back.

She had sat up straight with her arms and legs crossed. Her gaze was ice-cold.

Jiyong buried his face in his hands. “Listen, you can’t tell the guys—”

“No, _you_ listen!” The way she was leaning forward, the way every muscle in her body was taught, it looked like she could stand up any second. Jiyong knew she would never hurt him, she had no intention of doing so either, but her body language was intimidating enough.

“I know that you weren’t ready when everything happened. I know that you were forced to go to rehab, I know that it wasn’t your choice. But fuck, man, something good can come out of this if you at least tried. Maybe Jay getting arrested was… a sign, I don’t fucking know. You actually did something for yourself, don’t throw it away.”

Jiyong had started pacing again while she spoke. He’d pulled on his hair and covered his ears, although he’d still heard her. He stopped in the middle of the room, once again facing Chaerin.

“No, you—fuck, it’s not that easy! You don’t fucking get it, I need this! I can’t—I don’t want to go back to being miserable all the fucking time! I need this and I need you to keep quiet about it. I’ll be more careful, just _please_ …”

Chaerin stared at him for a good minute, just to properly convey how disappointed she was. “Jiyong, you have depression. You can’t treat one problem with a bigger problem! I’m sorry to be the one to say it, but you can’t live off of acid!”

Jiyong moved. He was shaking with the need to do something horrendous, but attempting to contain it. He cursed, crossed his arms and dug his nails into his skin.

Chaerin stood up. Jiyong froze. She walked over and took him by the shoulders.

“You didn’t get any of us the chance to tell you, but we’re proud of you. Please, for the love of God don’t throw away everything you’ve accomplished. You have a chance to get better, so just try, please.”

She wouldn’t move on until Jiyong looked at her, so he did, unwillingly so.

And when he did, he had to lie. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Chaerin’s relief made Jiyong chest tighten with guilt. Sighing, he let Chaerin hug him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that does it for the prequel series!!
> 
> I must apologize for leaving such a gap between the last few uploads. I haven't been well, I haven't been able to do anything artistic in a very long time, not even to upload my works. But either way, thank you to everyone who read this story as well as superstar!
> 
> The sequel is in the works, but with my motivation issues, my mental state and uni starting soon it might take a while to be completed. Please look forward to it, subscribe to the stories and my account to be notified when the story is up! I will post an announcement in this story and in superstar as well.
> 
> Once again, thank you to everyone who stuck with this story, read and commented <3
> 
> In the meantime, you can follow me on [twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/locdisapp) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hanguangjunsguqin212), use those platforms to follow my progress or to send asks if you wish.


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